


Performance Evaluation

by DericBindel



Series: Corporate Mike Townsend [1]
Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Bad End Parallel World (Dark Seattle | Corporation/Cyberpunk hellhole), Brainwashing (Tied to setting | not on screen), Cyberpunk bodyhorror (minor | not focused on), Gen, Job Performance Evaluation (discussed | not on screen), Potential Violation of Personal Autonomy (moving unconscious body), Unhealthy workplace dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DericBindel/pseuds/DericBindel
Summary: Mike Townsend, Head of Player Acquisitions on the Seattle Corporates is preparing to give the team "captain", Theodore Duende, a routine Evaluation of his performance during the Hunts. This is a short follow-up to the fic "A-Hunting We Will Go" by remi_wolf. CW's ARE IN THE TAGS.
Relationships: Mike Townsend & Theodore Duende (Dark Seattle), Mike Townsend/Homerun Eric
Series: Corporate Mike Townsend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210934
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Performance Evaluation

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A-Hunting We Will Go](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29078727) by [remi_wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remi_wolf/pseuds/remi_wolf). 



> This story is set in Dark Seattle, which is in a world running parallel to regular Blaseball's Seattle. The Seattle Garages have been taken over by a fictional company, and turned into the Seattle Corporates. The city and team are a cyberpunk-fueled hellhole as a result. CONTENT WARNINGS ARE IN THE TAGS.
> 
> This fic is a small follow-up piece to remi_wolf's fic "A-Hunting We Will Go", where the team goes Hunting to acquire new team members. I picture Mike as having a more supervisor role during these Hunts, being the head of that department and all.

**_[ The Sun's lifeless glowing corpse hangs before the pitch black sky. Sallow wisps of smoke still drip from the arrow pinning it to the firmament. Down below, the sleepless city of Seattle still groans with the sounds of commerce and conflict. ]_ **

**_[ There is a Hunt tonight. ]_ **

**_[ Mike Townsend, slick and refined, is not participating tonight. Rather, he has had his careful gaze on Theodore Duende, watching his every move, finding his every flaw. There is an Evaluation tonight, and in his professional opinion, Mike finds Duende to be lacking. ]_ **

**_[ The office Mike finds himself in is among the more visually interesting in this building. On the opposite side from the door lies the latest in overSEER™ Hunter AR Management Suite technology, a large sphere covered in pipes, readouts, and other messy technologic details. It is currently occupied, with the access hatch closed, though it should already be open. Mike checks his watch. Theodore Duende, and by extension the rest of the Hunters, is operating past scheduled, as unfortunately usual. Another thing to note in his Evaluation. . . ]_ **

Michael: 

Duende, Duende, Duende. . . You really are something? Such promising potential, yet so often you seem to squander-

**_[ Mike's idle musings are interrupted by alarm sounds. The overSEER™'s running lights change from a steady shifting blue to flashing reds. The readouts had new popups, with their own red text, decrying one level or another being out of normal. ]_ **

Michael: 

**_[ He gives a deep sigh, rolling his eyes with it. ]_ ** You are always such a magnet for problems, too. Ugh, guess someone will have to fix this for you. **_[ He stands up off of the desk he was sitting on and deliberately goes to the Orderly Summons button by the door instead of the one on the overSEER™, a sort of play to prolong Duende's situation. It is only fair, after all. ]_ **

**_[ Within a short time, a specialized technical nurse arrives, pushing past the door and passing by Mike, followed by two standard orderlies. Mike makes special care to check the nametags of each. Generally, he didn't bother himself with those so far beneath him, but the Managerial Training Department had told him that calling employees by their actual names did statistically improve their productivity by around 5%. ]_ **

**_[ Mike stands off to the side while the technical nurse gets to work unscrambling the overSEER™. She moves from console to console, determining the cause and type of crash, inputting various commands. Mike meanwhile is playing back the last of the visual feeds until the blackout hits. He nearly loses his balance from the second-hand pain, and he quickly taps the implant behind his ear, shutting it off. Yet another failure to mark down. ]_ **

Michael: 

**_[ He regains his composure, and adjusts his tie. ]_ **Nurse Eastman, how long until Duende is removable from the device? He has a scheduled Evaluation, and I would hate to have to mark him as "non-attending". . .

Margaret: 

**_[ Although she does not move from position to the side of overSEER™, she looks up to make eye contact with Mike. Everyone knows to do so. ]_ **I would not advise removing the operator from the Hunter Suite for at least fifteen minutes. However, the electronic smelling-salts should have him back to near full-level consciousness in under five. It seems there was a cascading crash. . .

Michael: 

Yes, it would seem there was a trauma event, and our compatriots were taken offline as well. Open his hatch now. I will inspect the company damages personally.

**_[ The nurse nods her head and she makes a few button presses on a small pad next to the hatch. The running lights on the overSEER™ have finally calmed from the throbbing red into the normal pulsating blues. There is a faint hissing sound, followed by a soft click, and the hatch gently swings out and open. ]_ **

_**[ Theodore Duende is reclined on the chair inside. Some of the conduits that were plugged into his spinal ports have been disconnected, likely when the incident occurred. They dangle from the upper surface like cut paper in a jammed shredder. The screens inside are blank, as is Duende's expression. Mike steps up to the sphere. ]** _

Michael: 

Good. I can take this from here. If you could wait out in the hall, that would be ideal. You can clean him up when I am done. . .

Margaret: 

Uh. . . Yes, Mister Townsend, sir. **_[ She and the orderlies swiftly leave the room, leaving Mike all alone with Duende. ]_ **

**_[ The glow of the midnight sun struggles to pass through the tinted office windows, leaving the space solely illuminated by the rhythmic blue glow of the Hunter Suite. The muffled sounds of computer fans and hard disk drives gives way to the air conditioning. There is a rhythmic stillness to the offices, this late in the evening. ]_ **

**_[ Mike leans over, stepping through the open hatchway, and stands over the unconscious figure. ]_ **

Michael: 

_**[ Mike adjusts Duende's body, somewhat gently tilting him forward, checking the status of the spinal ports. The slight traces of scorching indicates new ports will have to be installed later. He lets Duende's figure fall backwards into the chair. That discomfort would barely register compared to the more pressing matters. ]** _ How typical, biting the hand that feeds. Damaging company property. . . **_[ He leans slightly to inspect the various connections and sensors on Duende's forehead, turning the figure's head side to side as he does so. The feel of Duende's beard in his fingers is not wholly unpleasant. It's a shame Duende is not a higher performer. If he was, maybe there could have been something. . . Mike quickly pushes that thought aside. There is no room here for petty infatuations. There is business to attend to. ]_ ** Good. . . The head pieces are still intact, nice to see him not completely thoughtless. . . **_[ He rights himself, and steps back to rest his weight against the interior wall. ]_ **

**_[ A scant minute later, Duende stirs. The muscle spasm in his arm catches Mike's attention. He puts away his phone. Eric can wait. Another muscle spasm, this time in Duende's leg. ]_ **

**_[ As Theodore Duende wakes, pain courses through his body. Static signals bounce around his head like hail in a tin can. He can't move his body, his legs and arms, anything at first. Then, with great, painful slowness, he is able to lift his head and open his eyes. Standing, no, towering above him is his supervisor, Mike Townsend, face more harrowing than any enemy team. Mike speaks, the sound crashing through Duende's head like a siren made of screams. ]_ **

Michael: 

Theodore Duende. . . You are a disappointment.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Olly Olly Oxen Free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374596) by [remi_wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/remi_wolf/pseuds/remi_wolf)




End file.
